


Woke Up Alone

by missred



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fever, I'm such a sucker for sick Pete, Influenza, M/M, Patrick gets a little panicky, Prompt Fill, Sick Fic, Sickfic, This one was fun, domestic AU, everything is fine really, sick!fic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missred/pseuds/missred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their job to take care of each other. If that job calls for a day in bed, Patrick's not complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woke Up Alone

It was the heat that woke Patrick. Pete always ran warmer than him, but that usually meant a t-shirt to Patrick’s cardigan, not..whatever this was. Pete’s body heat had spread to Patrick’s side of the bed, leaving Patrick too hot and wide awake. He rolled over to face Pete and pressed his fingertips to Pete’s cheek.

The whispered “ _Shit_ ” that slipped out was totally not Patrick’s fault.

He rolled out of bed and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, searching bleary-eyed for the thermometer. He grabbed it from the medicine cabinet and made his way back to the dark room. Pete didn’t stir when Patrick turned on the bedside lamp. Patrick leaned over and shook Pete’s tanned shoulder, waking him with a start.

Pete felt _awful_ when he blinked back into consciousness, and the first thing he saw was Patrick’s concerned face.

“ughhh.” He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, “whasswrong,’ rick? whasswrong?”

“I think you’re sick.” Patrick’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Mmgghh, don’ feel good.” Pete mumbled, face muffled in his pillow. He was all tangled in sweaty sheets and he would maybe take a cold shower if the prospect of getting up didn’t sound so goddamn exhausting.

“C’mere.” Patrick tugged Pete’s face towards his own and slid a thermometer under his tongue. The numbers read 102.6.

“That’s not good, not good.” Patrick muttered. He knew somewhere around 104 degrees you needed to go to the ER.

“Pete, Pete! Don’t go to sleep, right now, okay?”

Pete blinked tiredly in Patrick’s general direction, and Patrick tried his best not to panic. He wasn’t used to dealing with really sick people, the worst that ever happened to any of them on tour was a little cold or laryngitis. He did a quick google search but every site seemed to have different advice. So Patrick did the only reasonable thing any grown person would do--he called his mom.

Aside from being startled to be woken in the middle of the night, his mom wasn’t upset at all, which was nice, since Patrick felt like a major asshole for waking her. Except Pete looked bad and felt worse and maybe he was panicking a little bit a lot.

She made a thoughtful noise when Patrick nervously told her Pete’s temperature.

“Has he taken anything yet?” She asked.

“No, no, I didn’t know if I should--if I need to take him to the hospital.” Patrick ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly.

“Give him three ibuprofen and see how he feels in the morning.” She advised. “If the medicine doesn’t help drive him to the hospital, but, you don’t want to go through all that emergency room bureaucracy just to have them give him ibuprofen there.”

“Okay. Okay.” Patrick exhaled shakily. “Thanks mom.”

“Of course sweetheart. Keep me updated on what’s going on, and give Pete my love.”

“Yeah, I will. Have a good night.”

Patrick filled a glass of water from the tap and returned to where Pete lay curled up in bed.

“Pete, sit up for second okay?” Pete moaned lowly, but complied, tossing back the pills Patrick pressed into his hand and gulping some water.

Patrick hovered anxiously for moment while Pete slumped back into a horizontal position.

“Does anything hurt?” He questioned.

Pete let out a dry, humorless laugh, eyes closed.

“Feels kinda like I went ten rounds with Hurley. Throat hurts too.”

Patrick ticked off the symptoms--fever, fatigue, muscle aches, sore throat--nothing major jumped out except for how high the fever had been, and he was hoping that would go away soon. He’d call the doctor’s office for a professional opinion, but he downgraded his panic level from red to yellow, and grabbed an extra blanket for Pete when he asked.

“You know you’re burning up.” He remarked as Pete burrowed in the added blankets.

“I know I’m _cold_ ‘trick.” Pete mumbled, face smushed in his pillow. “And m’goin’ back to sleep. Wake me up when I don’t feel crappy anymore , k?”

“Okay.” Patrick replied softly. he turned out the light and listened to Pete’s breathing slow, but he was too wired to sleep again himself.

A glance at the clock told him it was 4:52 a.m. That could be a ridiculously early start to the day if he wanted it to be.

* * *

By 9 in the morning Patrick had cleaned out the fridge, caught up on laundry, returned dozens of emails, and checked on Pete seventeen times. He seemed to be doing alright, aside from alternating between throwing the covers off and balling up under all of them. Patrick was going to have to wake him up soon to take more medicine. The nurse on duty when when he'd called Pete's doctor had assured him that it sounded like a pretty standard flu virus, and as long as his fever didn't get too high Pete was just as good riding it out at home as at a hospital. That news had released the final knot of tension that had been hanging on Patrick's shoulder's since last night. Still, he wanted to stay on schedule with the fever reducers until Pete was better, and it had been more than four hours since the last dose. 

 

As if on cue, Pete stumbled downstairs rubbing his eyes, a blanket trailing behind him like a cape. 

He didn't look very steady on his feet. 

"Hey, hey, what are you doing down here?" Patrick didn't wait for a reply, grabbing Pete's hand and leading him back up the stairs. 

"You weren't here." Pete responded forlornly. "I woke up and you weren't here." 

"I'm here now." Patrick replied firmly, tucking Pete into bed like a kid. Pete let him, allowing himself to be maneuvered until he was propped up with pillows but deep under the covers. 

"I feel like shit, Rick." Pete told him matter-of-factly. His voice was rough and low. 

"Yeah I bet." Patrick rubbed his shoulder sympathetically. "Lemme check you out."

Pete barked out a laugh and gave Patrick his best lewd wink. "Anytime."

Patrick rolled his eyes and grabbed the thermometer off the nightstand. 

"C'mon, you know the drill."

Pete opened his mouth and offered a mock salute.

"yessir." He said, words garbled. 

Patrick read out the numbers, "101 is better than last night, but I'm still not a big fan. You need to eat something before I can give you more ibuprofen though."

"I'm not hungry." Pete replied. 

"Tough." Patrick told him. "Do you want toast or apple slices?'

"You know, as a grown man, I think I at least get to pick my choice of sick food." Pete reasoned. 

"Ice cream doesn't count, and you can pick your food when you can make it out of bed long enough to get it yourself."

"Is that a challenge?" Pete grinned and shifted like he was going to make a move for the door when Patrick pressed both hands to his chest and kept him down.

"Absolutely not. I'll be right back. _Stay_."

"Wouldn't dream of disobeying orders, Sgt. Stump." Pete replied with a smile. 

Once Pete had gotten some food down and taken a few more pills, Patrick was sure he'd want to sleep again. He looked in danger of crashing every minute he was awake, anyways. But when Patrick went to leave so Pete could get some rest, he let out a sharp noise of protest.

"Where are you going?"

Patrick hesitated. 

"I was gonna let you get some sleep."

"Now what is the point of a day in bed if my thickheaded boyfriend isn't there?"

Patrick could recognize the unsaid plea for contact. Pete was very much a touchy-feely person, but he hated to ask for it. So Patrick crawled into the space next to Pete and let him settle so his head was resting on Patrick's chest. Patrick wove an arm around Pete's shoulder and began absentmindedly carding his fingers through Pete's hair. He could feel the heat from Pete's cheek radiating through his shirt, but it was more like his regular warmth and not the scary heat that had woken him the night before. Beneath him, Pete hummed happily. 

"That's more like it." He murmured. 

Patrick pressed a kiss to the crown of Pete's head. 

"Get some rest."

"Aye, aye, Cap." Pete replied sleepily.  

He snuggled closed to Patrick. Patrick lost track of how much time past before he could feel the steady vibration of Pete's snores against his chest. It was a comforting feeling. It had been a long night. With Pete alright and asleep against him, Patrick finally allowed himself to doze off. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt fill. There is not enough Peterick sickfic on this earth. Attempting to remedy that.


End file.
